


helping hand

by pr0serpina



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, just dudes being guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 12:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr0serpina/pseuds/pr0serpina
Summary: "Guess I'm too used to my own hand.""You can borrow mine."There's nothing weird about helping a friend in need.





	helping hand

Hawkeye throws open the door to the Swamp with a bang. Trapper looks up from his book, startled. Hawk moves like a caged creature around the Swamp, all barely-contained frustration and deliberate grace. "You, uh, you strike out with Bannerman?" Trapper asks.

"Not exactly," Hawk says a little darkly.

"Well?"

Hawkeye turns on his hill abruptly, almost militarily. All the near work he does means that Trap's a bit shortsighted, but it doesn't take an eagle-eye to see the sharp outline of Hawkeye's cock in his trousers.

"Uh...okay, I see what the problem is, but why's the problem there?"

Hawk shrugs. "Couldn't get off. Latent priapism or proof that this is hell."

Trap hadn't been exactly pleased at the thought of Bannerman and Hawkeye together, but objectively, she's a gorgeous girl--cute, curvy figure, plenty of bouncy hair, and she's quick and clever to boot. "You couldn't get off with her? You sick or somethin'?"

"Or something," Hawkeye mutters. "I even took a detour to the showers. No dice."

Trap tries to approach this medically. "Well...maybe if you leave it alone...?"

"Here's the thing," Hawkeye holds up a finger. "I'm ridiculously, painfully aroused. I have never wanted to get off so bad in my life. It's just that none of the tricks are working." He chuckles mirthlessly. "Guess I'm too used to my own hand."

"You can borrow mine." The thought makes its way out of Trapper's mouth before he can think better of it, before he can even process it. He feels the blood rush to his face in a way that it seldom does, can feel the throb of his heart in his ears. He stares at Hawk with a clenched jaw and wide eyes, feeling like he just walked right over the edge of a cliff.

Hawk looks at him in consideration. "You'd do that?" Is Trapper dreaming, or is there a bit of hunger in his eyes?

Trap lifts one shoulder. "Sure." After all, it's nothing that he didn't do for guys on the football team after a game: the raw energy of slamming another body to the ground left them all tightly wound. It's just helping a friend out.

"You're gonna want to take off your pants," Trap says, approaching Hawk and tentatively placing his hands on Hawk's sides.

"My shirt, too?"

Trapper can't resist a wink. "That's up to you, sweetheart."

Hawk makes quick work of his trousers, leaving his skivvies on. A thought strikes Trap like a shot in the arm: He'd like little more than to kiss Hawkeye. To pull his lip from between his teeth, where he's chewing it a little anxiously. To taste. Trap shakes his head quickly to clear it. There's helping a friend, and there's being queer for his friend, and he doesn't want to think about that. Instead he slips a hand in the slit of Hawk's army-regulation boxers. He doesn't move his hand, just grasps Hawk's length, feeling the hot weight of it. Hawk hisses, his knees buckling a little.

Trap's never been fond of having to twist his wrist backwards to get another guy off, and if Hawk's this wound up, Trap's going to need to support his weight. "I've got a better idea," he says. He takes his hand away, not missing the frustrated little sigh that escapes Hawkeye, and plants himself in the dentists' chair. "Sit on my lap. Back against my chest. That's it." He wraps an arm around Hawkeye's middle hauling him flush against his chest. It's a little risky, certainly harder to spring apart, but the angle is better. Given how Hawk rocks into his hand, Hawk agrees.

He's not too worried about getting Hawk off. If he's going to have Hawk in his lap, he wants to enjoy it. He strokes lightly, savoring the silky slide of Hawkeye in his hand and running the edge of his finger along the head, smearing the drop of dampness he finds here.

"I knew you'd be a tease," Hawkeye breathes.

Trapper feels a rush of warmth in his belly. Hawkeye's thought about this, about him? "I knew you could take it," he jokes in a low voice.. He idly wonders what Hawkeye likes, what Hawkeye would sound like if he could do something Hawk liked. This is, on reflection, going to become an issue to reconcile with his image of being a good friend helping a friend out.

He brushes his lips across the delicately pale skin of Hawkeye's throat, and Hawkeye twists, pushing his cock insistently into Trapper's hand at the same time that he tilts his head to bare more of his neck. Trap pushes the collar of Hawk's shirt down with his free hand and sucks at the skin there. Hawkeye cries out, startled, and muffles his groan behind a hand clapped hastily over his mouth. Trap emphasizes his actions with a nip. He can't explain why, but he wants, needs, to leave a bruise. To leave some part of him with Hawkeye like a talisman. To remind Hawkeye that they did this.

Hawkeye whines a little, throwing one leg over an arm of the chair and rolling his hips to meet Trapper's hand. "Trap, please," he begs, "I need to come, please."

An idea sparks in Trapper's mind. "Be good for me, Hawk," he whispers. "Come for me. Let me make you fall apart."

With a cry he barely remembers to smother, Hawk shakes apart in his lap, streaking his own shirt with come.

Under him, Trapper realizes an inconvenient fact: he's very, very hard.

Hawkeye sinks further into Trap's arms, panting and boneless and seemingly oblivious to the fact that Trapper's cock is wedged in his ass--which is just fine with Trapper, because it makes it easier for him to ignore how turned on he is by his best friend. Being turned on isn't part of the deal. It's no longer just helping a friend. But was it ever?

Hawkeye slowly extracts himself from Trapper's lap, stripping off his shirt and tossing it in his mountain of dirty clothes. He turns back to look at Trap with a soft expression on his face that quickly turns sly.

"Let me guess," he quips, "Dartmouth locker rooms, just you and the captain after a big game, right?"

"I _was_ the captain," Trap says sourly.

"Alright, you and your favorite lineman. But how often did you sport a semi afterward?" He throws a wink at Trapper casually and scoops up his shower things, leaving the tent.

It takes all of two seconds for Trapper to decide to follow him.

**Author's Note:**

> me, from the peanut gallery: BIT GAY, LADS.


End file.
